Fucking Cobb
by Aurora-swan
Summary: Eames is having one of those days that everyone's afraid of. And no one has time for.


The windmills of the Netherlands was such a marvellous sight according to Cobb.

That statement was the biggest bullshit Eames had ever heard. There were no difference between them or the wind turbines he could see from his family summer house three weeks a year and he could not understand why in heavens name Cobb felt such a need to leave work for a whole day to go look at them.

Fucking Cobb. It was his fault Eames had to come home on a sunday and not a saturday.

Finding a cab at the airport at this time was murder on a sunday. People were coming home from all imaginable things sundays. Family reunions, holidays, business trips and god knows what.

No one was at the airport a saturday evening.

They were still at family reunions and holiday. Probably spending that last evening at a hotel bar after a whole week of business trips.

Fucking Cobb making him come home on a sunday.

Even the roads were just as clogged as his taxi drivers veins at this point. The roadworks were empty of workers since it was the famous weekend and traffic was going nuts like kindergardeners without supervision. The whole ride home was a wild mess with curses and honking and at one point he'd seen his own face in the rear-view mirror only to be disgusted by his face of disgust.

Fucking Cobb, he thought and looked away with the promise never to look up again.

When finally arriving outside the tall building he proudly called home there was something else turning up he could blame Cobb for.

Foreign bills.

Fucking Cobb had taken his last pile of fivers to get a coffee at Costa and left Eames with the change from the Netherlands.

Eames had since the checkout passed about seven ATM's. One at bag returns, one before passport control, and five amongst the shops. Not a single time had the thought passed him that, maybe, this ride home would cost him.

This, of course, was also Cobb's fault. He didn't know how. It simply just was.

But this was a kind driver. Not one of those who simply sighs at your stupidity or looks back at you to give you the time of your life with curse words that you probably never had heard before. No, this was one of those drivers who ever so fucking kindly would drive you to the closest ATM, even if it was at the end of the fucking street, just you you could pay him his fucking money, and than leave you to walk back to the flat ever if it was fucking ten minutes away.

Eames tried really hard to shatter at least one eardrum as he slammed the door closed on the cab. The irony of this day would have been hilarious if it had happened to someone else. Perhaps Arthur. Arthur would have been a mess a day like this. Only Arthur would never had come to the windmills with fucking Cobb and would have been able to return on a saturday.

He should have brought Arthur to the Netherlands.

With his bag swung over his shoulder he popped into the shop where he did his usual shopping. Even if this was his fifth time he'd quit smoking he wasn't going to stop himself from having a cigarette. A Lucky Strike. Just like the ones his father had smoked before he died in lung cancer.

Eames should really stop smoking a sixth time as well.

He continued to make his way down the street, smoking his cigarette and feeling his left shoulder aching under the weight of his bag. If Arthur hadn't been traveling too this week he would have taken **his** bag. Arthur bag had those fancy wheels. Even a lock with a code. It even cost more than everything Eames would be able to put in it but whatever.

It had wheels and a lock with a code.

And Arthur's clothes never smelled like moist airplane air when he unpacked. This ten minute walk would have been easier with Arthur's bag, he thought and tossed his cigarette as he reached the building.

At last he was home; punching the code and giving the door a pull.

The door would not open.

Punching in the code he then gave the door a second pull. It still didn't open and he fell down on the steps in defeat.

He wished he could blame this on Cobb. He really did. This day had been a mistake ever since it was made into a sunday and all Eames wanted to do was cry; look up at the blue sky, curl up his hands and scream 'Why!?' like Frankenstein's monster after the villagers killed his creator.

It wasn't that he couldn't get into the house. Eames was a fucking thief; if he wanted to get into the house he would get into the house. But right now things had reached its limits. He was tired, hungry, homesick and most of all he missed Arthur.

Also, this day was just one of **those** days. That day that everyone dreaded that always showed up when no one had time for it.

Arthur would not get back for another week. So why was Eames so anxious to get into the flat. He really didn't know. Nothing was waiting for up there rather than plants that needed water. No one would care if he sat on these steps for another hour of five and he would happily let those plants die rather than spend a whole week up there on his own.

He sighed in despair, blinked away the miserable tears threatening to fall before reaching into his pocket to get out his wallet. In his wallet he found his tools that could easily open any lock as long as they were in his hands. The door was open in seven seconds and he slipped inside, walked heavily over to the lift without taking his eyes off the dirty floor of the entrance.

He should check the mail.

Fuck the mail.

He rode the lift all the way to the top floor while searching for his keys. They'd gone Anne Earhart somewhere along the way and he felt himself shaking. This was not his day and he let out a small moan in misery as he once again fished out his tools from his wallet.

"Almost home." he thought to himself as he poked around to get the door open with his tiny tools. "Almost inside, and then I can have a good cry, make a cup o' tea and get a good nights sleep."

The lock clicked and Eames' arms fell heavily to his sides. The flat would be dark, probably cold and maybe he should just forget the cuppa and go straight to bed. He pushed the door open and went inside.

It wasn't dark.

Or cold.

"Hi hun!" an angelic voice called from the kitchen and Eames' breath hitched in his throat as he stood there, on the carpet, just staring down the corridor wondering if he'd just imagined it all.

"Eames?" the voice called, worried this time and soon there was movement.

A face peaked around the corner. And not just any face but Arthur's face. All made up with his hair gelled back and his dimples ready to charm Eames to his knees.

They both stared.

"You okay?" Arthur asked with a frown and took a step out of the kitchen, his body facing Eames fully and suddenly the big bag dropped to the floor.

Four long steps was all it took for Eames to cross the road left between him and Arthur; but for him it was like crossing the Sahara desert to reach an oasis. As he finally wrapped his arms around Arthur he drank; breathed him in like tobacco and held him like he was afraid he would run away.

"Arthur." he cried and the name had never tasted so wonderful on his tongue. Once again, tears prickled the corners of his eyes and he buried his face to the nape of his husband's long neck where he'd hidden from the horrors of the world so many times before. "My Arthur."

"Yes, your Arthur." the puzzled husband answered while rubbing gentle hands across his back that ached from the heavy bag. "Did you expect someone else?"

"I didn't expect anyone." Eames cried and pulled him a little closer just to be sure that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Well..." Arthur chuckled, his warm hands traveled up his neck and his slim fingers finding their way into Eames' hair. "I'm here. Right where you are."

Eames pulled back with a sniffle, cupped Arthur's face in his hands and looked at him with such adoration it should hurt.

Then Arthur smiled. And then there was dimples and Eames stole one of many future kisses from his lips. "I love you."

"I love you too, silly." Arthur laughed, it was clear that he had no idea if what was going on with Eames and he thought well not to question it but instead just lean into another kiss.

"You'll never believe the day I've had." Eames whimpered while wiping his silly tears.

"Well, I've got a casserole just waiting for a good dinner conversation." Arthur smiled and placed yet another kiss onto his lips.

"You knew I was coming?"

"I've tracked your credit cards since you entered the airport in Netherlands." Arthur said happily and pulled him into the kitchen. "I hope that cigarette was worth it."

The regret was probably noticeable. It had not been worth it; but as Arthur swung around from the stove and placed the casserole dish on the nicely set table he thought to himself that it was a problem for another day.

"So tell me what happened." Arthur said as they sat down at the table like a textbook couple.

"Well..." Eames started and couldn't take his eyes of Arthur who dug into the dish with hunger. "Cobb..."

"Fucking Cobb." Arthur interrupted with a groan while shaking his head and Eames could suddenly not remember why this day had been so bad after all.


End file.
